


well, you have every reason to be terrified, since you’ve been reading my mind (but who am i to deny this moment?)

by proserpinasacra



Series: ain't it warming you, the world goin' up in flames? [1]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, F/M, Hair Brushing, Power Dynamics, Soft Jacob, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 14:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17664290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proserpinasacra/pseuds/proserpinasacra
Summary: “There’s brain in your hair.”Her blood-damp hands darted up to the twin Dutch braids unraveling behind her ears, and she frowned when she plucked away a squishy chunk of something and brought it forward to investigate. After confirming his statement, Rook flicked it away into the flowers.“Huh. One of them grabbed me from behind, so I sort of-“ She mimed dropping her elbow into someone’s lower gut while bringing her hands up at an angle towards her shoulder to squeeze a diagonal shot through her assailant’s soft palate. He nodded, not looking terribly surprised, then focused on her again sharply. Or maybe curiously. All his expressions tended towards sharp. Rook added it to her slowly building catalog of the Jacob scale of sharpness.(local cop can't decipher her own feelings, bites off more than expected)





	well, you have every reason to be terrified, since you’ve been reading my mind (but who am i to deny this moment?)

Blood still coated Rook’s hands. She looked at them contemplatively, spreading her fingers and feeling as the sticky warmth dried to a flaking layer under the heat of the sun. After the fight she’d darted into the forest, and not stopped fucking running until she came a decent distance to this pretty clearing. Flowers spread around her, and not the bliss kind, or even the medicinally helpful sort she felt obligated to grab. Tilting her face up to the sky with closed eyes, she dug her hands into the damp dirt.

Breathe, girl, you made it out of yet another ridiculous fight in this hell county. Once again, the only survivor. It may have been easier had she brought along any friends, but encountering a group of Chosen while merely traveling through the region with recon in mind hadn’t exactly left a chance to call backup.

Letting out a slow exhale, Rook sunk her fingers in further and willed her pulse to slow. It finally did, with some practiced focus and measured breathing.

Of course, a rustling from the edge of the clearing a heartbeat later let her know she wasn’t alone.

Rook’s casually cross-legged position snapped into a low fighting crouch; blood and dirt dripped off her fingers as she squinted towards the source of the noise. A towering form, covered in camo and topped with a shock of red hair. Jacob fucking Seed. Walking through an opening in the brush, through the same chaotic path she’d left when barreling through the forest.

With the recognition, her blood thrilled in immediate anticipation of a fight- verbal or physical, it all amounted to an exhilarating spar with this one. He set her on edge in a completely different way than his siblings. The hallucinatory bliss Faith used to control her and the unsettling knife play of serial killer vibe John presented complete terrifying unknowns, but as for Jacob-- Gracie Rook had been forcing herself through grueling physical challenges her whole life. The trial she ran through in the Veteran’s Center had been like a game, a chance to show off her fighting skills and hear Jacob’s reluctant praise at every imaginary snapped neck and collapsed trachea. The mind tricks were another thing entirely, but Rook, maybe arrogantly, figured she would be disciplined enough to throw them off now that she’d experienced them once. No, the jitters he inspired in her didn’t amount to a normal fear.

Jacob Seed felt like a challenge to be won.

So she watched him, but didn’t grab for her gun. Instead, as he approached closer and closer, she let a harsh smile inch across her lips. The winning and mean smile of knowing you’d one upped someone in a debate. He stopped a shade out of range of any quick kicks she could throw, in what she imagined wasn’t a coincidence. With him standing and her on the ground, he loomed even more than usual. They assessed each other silently, then she finally broke the tension.

“So you saw my earlier entanglement? For _Chosen_ , they didn’t pose much of a problem.”

His eyebrows drew together, but he tossed his reply back to her fast. “You missed one, Deputy.”

Her lips pursed. “I did not.”

“I got a soldier crying on the radio about some _ninja girl_ appearing out of nowhere then disarming and killing everyone before taking off into the forest. Found him with both his knees shattered and a mostly collapsed windpipe.”

Fuck. She tilted her head to the side, striving to look poised. “Oh, that one. You know, time honored tactic of leaving one terrified victim alive so they can spread tales of my ferocity. And also some casual racism, apparently.”

His lips didn’t move, but the corners of his eyes crinkled, little crow’s feet spreading out among freckles and scars. She sat back out of the crouch, stretching her legs in front of her as she tried not to smile in response to the novel expression on his face. Instinct forced her to continue on to bury the urge. “I’m guessing that sort of failure isn’t really tolerated anyway.”

His head tipped in cold confirmation, the amusement draining away. Rook wondered if Jacob would make an example of the man or if he’d already shot him, neat and clean. Either way, it accomplished her original goal of killing him. The less Chosen around the better.

“Good.” Dropping her chin, Rook looked up at him through her eyelashes. A challenge. “Saves me the trouble of finishing him off myself.”

Jacob glared at her. His gaze never wavered, a steady intensity that bored deep into every bit of her. It made her want to shift, to move, do something to burn away the insistent buzz of energy it inspired. She reigned it in to stay still; she didn’t look away.

“There’s brain in your hair.”

Her blood-damp hands darted up to the twin Dutch braids unraveling behind her ears, and she frowned when she plucked away a squishy chunk of something and brought it forward to investigate. After confirming his statement, Rook flicked it away into the flowers.

“Huh. One of them grabbed me from behind, so I sort of-“ She mimed dropping her elbow into someone’s lower gut while bringing her hands up at an angle towards her shoulder to squeeze a diagonal shot through her assailant’s soft palate. He nodded, not looking terribly surprised, then focused on her again sharply. Or maybe curiously. All his expressions tended towards sharp. Rook added it to her slowly building catalog of the Jacob scale of sharpness.

“Thought you didn’t like shooting.”

She shrugged. “Mm, my hands were full. Of gun. So- I used the gun.”

He huffed out a soft breath, something like a laugh, and Rook felt a smile flicker over her lips before dissipating.

It had been like this for weeks now. At some unidentifiable point their snipping over the radio turned to banter veering dangerously close to playful, turned to hushed talks at odd hours, turned to rare chance encounters in person and Rook- she didn’t know what to do with any of it. She fought hard against the cult, bouncing around the county to help as her friends called, and they made steady headway in every region, even the Whitetail mountains.

And yet. Rook leaned back as she drew one of her braids over her shoulder, pulling off the tie and methodically working her fingers through to unravel it, bits of brain and skull untangling as she did. It felt like an invitation for disaster- occupying her hands with him so close. He took a single step closer. She could kick him now, easily, quickly. Another step, almost casual, never ceasing in watching her. Rook focused on her hair, but kept him in the corner of her vision.

“You’re going to get some kind of infection, running around covered in brain matter and blood and all the open wounds you end up with. Foolish. Always playing at being a soldier, never actually thinking.”

She hummed under her breath, wondering why he’d started off so quiet before getting to his creed, and shooting a quick glance up at his intent face.

“I haven’t had time to shower it out. Give me a second here, old man. I don’t actually make a habit of rolling around in the blood of my enemies.”

“It’s all over your hands.” He grumbled, jerking his chin at her before his eyes narrowed in another almost-smile. “Not metaphorically.”

Rook snorted, closing her eyes and tipping her head forward as it shook into laughter and then straightened up just as quick. When she glanced up, their eyes met briefly, hooking her in a startlingly light moment. She focused back on untangling her braids.

With her hair spread about her shoulders, Rook gave it another cursory shake, then raised her eyebrows up at Jacob.

“Did I get it all?”

“You want me to check your hair.” His voice stayed completely flat, and though she couldn’t quite tell if it was with disbelief or annoyance, Rook grinned at him.

“That’s what I asked, yes. What, scared? I promise I won’t hit you unprovoked.”

With his height and her sitting, he couldn’t get a closer look at her hair. She knew what she was doing by asking, and her heart thrummed with wary anticipation at inviting him closer. Everything in her buzzed to fight fight fight, and she didn’t understand what she wanted from this- only that there were things she needed to test. After another quiet staring match, Jacob stepped closer. He moved slow, like a predator unconcerned with its prey escaping, circling around behind her. Rook’s heartbeat ratcheted up the second he left her field of view.

One of his knees popped as he settled down to sit behind her, and she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. He nudged at her shoulder in response, and she threw an elbow back at him, more meant to ward off than hurt. Despite the jostling, it still felt playful. Dangerous only in context.

After a second, Rook could feel him touching her hair in the gentle pull on her scalp, but not his actual touch. Maybe a passing promise of heat radiating from his larger form, or maybe that was only in her imagination. She didn’t know how close he sat. Couldn’t turn and check without yanking her hair.

“Nope.”

“Okay… then get it out?” The lilting that indicated it was a question was hardly present, only barely there to give her plausible deniability in saying it wasn’t a command. She could practically feel the displeasure rolling off him in waves, even without looking at him.

“Hardly a nice way to ask for a favor, honey.”

Her blood shot warm, all flight or fight instinct stilling every muscle in her body. His tone made the endearment mocking, but his perpetually rasping voice still ran over her skin like the sting of hitting the mat after a knockout. She pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth to center her thoughts and tipped her head.

“Get it out or I’ll shoot you?”

Rook twisted to peer at him. Their eyes met and he barked out a single laugh, a real, genuine laugh, and it pulled a bubble of surprised laughter from her as well. His drained faster than hers, but she sat there giggling for a moment before he turned her forwards with a firm grip on both her shoulders.

“I’m not your fucking hairdresser.” But she felt the tug of him dislodging the remaining bits of gore. After a moment, he unfolded some, going from what she guessed was a crouch to spreading his legs on either side of hers, then resumed pulling at her hair. It left her in a rather unappealing position. Tactically speaking, that was. Her muscles thrummed with excess energy, still anticipating that initial instinct of a fight. She focused on the holster wrapping around his leg. On the pretty red handgun first, then how well muscled he was, the thickness of his thigh, especially compared to her relatively thin wrist laid down into the ground just beside it.

Rook wasn’t helpless. She could twist fast, jab him in the solar plexus, grab his gun when his mass directly behind her would prevent her from reaching back far enough to grab hers. He could sling one leg over both of hers to trap her, and she would have to roll with it, hopefully rotating far enough to land a solid punch. If he went for her throat, she’d jab back at his eyes. If he trapped her arms, she’d headbutt his nose. She could even start it like that before he moved, then swing back to pierce her elbow to his throat before pouncing to land atop him and pummel his face. She imagined a thousand different scenarios of them grappling and rolling through the flowers, him pinning her down with his weight only for her to twist out and gain the upperhand straddling him, all a frenzied dance of his body pressed fierce against hers...

Rook cleared her throat, licked her bottom lip.

“Too bad. I’m probably in desperate need of a haircut.”

“Long hair could make you easier to track. Or be a target in a fight.” She’d considered that, thought the braids were a good enough compromise in not looking like a total forest gremlin.

“Then I definitely need one. Shame, I like it this long.” He didn’t say anything, but she could feel the brush of fingers from the crown of her head down to the ends of her hair at the small of her back. She didn’t _shiver_ , but only through intense focus. After all, he could pull it to disarm her, like he said.

“That’s most of it. You need to wash it anyway.”

“Believe me, a shower is the first priority.”

Rook brought her hair over her left shoulder to examine it herself, then stilled completely when his hand settled on her right. Here it was. Why wait through untangling her hair to start the fight? She hovered on the edge of springing, then forced herself to settle enough for him to make the first move.

Jacob hummed under his breath, questioning.

His thumb skimmed along her bared shoulder towards the outer edge of her collarbone until it reached the border of where her golden tan skin turned a mottled array of green, yellow, and purple, partially covered by her tank top. Multiple days of force building upon each other, the vertical band of bruise from shouldering a .50 cal rifle never quite healing fully. She took a measured breath through her nose to ease her nerves, though his hand didn’t stray far enough to hurt her. Her eyes fixated on his fingers. The blood from her hair stained the tips of them.

“Armstrong teaching you?”

“I strive to be deadly at _multiple_ ranges. Not just close up.”

“She’s a good shot. Think you’re making progress?”

“I’m a fast learner. Don’t really have a lot of free time, though.” Theoretically this was some of it. Yet she sat here, encircled by Jacob Seed.

“You need a shoulder guard.”

“I’d rather get used to it. Just in case. I’m not new to bruises.”

She expected him to let go then, break this strange bubble they’d fallen into so she could take a full breath again and clear herself of him.

He didn’t. His other hand mirrored his first and together they trailed farther down her arms and left a prickling of goosebumps in their wake despite the relatively warm breeze rustling the flowers around them. He took his time, his rough hands dragging over the scars and other bruises littering her arms, still far less than the pits and pink skin of those marring what she could see on him. His touch decreased in pressure as it ghosted over another notably dark bruise just above her elbow.

“I noticed. You fought, competitively. Isn’t that right?”

“Muay Thai. Started when I was eight. My mom wanted me in Aikido, but I pitched a fit…”

He chuckled, continued his inspection down her arms. Something about it held her frozen, though nothing could fully quiet the constant riot for action and movement inherent to her. When his hands reached her wrists, they circled loosely around them in a play at restraint, and Rook’s chest tightened achingly. Gentle enough not to hurt, firm enough to feel real.

“So, Deputy, could you escape?” His voice rasped low, closer to her ear than earlier.

Rook thought again about headbutting him. She thought about twisting her head and biting him, driving her elbow into his groin, striking his kneecap, punching his face. She thought about leaning back into his hold until his warmth pressed into every line of her back and letting him contain this frantic fighting energy he ignited in her. Letting it burn off with him.

“Yes.” She answered softly, no less certain and steady for the volume. His hands fell from her wrists to the tops of her thighs. He could probably feel her muscles tense through her worn thin jeans.

“You wanted me here.” That same gravelly crooning voice that she’d listened to over the radio time and again. His threats would certainly be harder to take seriously now when she could so easily imagine him bent around her and breathy with intensity.

“Yes.” No point in denying it. She hadn’t been very subtle in her machinations.

“So what’re you playing at, little wildcat?”

If only she knew.

She wanted to fight him.

She wanted him _closer_. Painfully, unbearably.

Rook snapped, finally turning her head to look at him. He had leaned in, and her breath caught when she saw just how close. His eyes, flecks of cold ice, intent into hers, offered little clarity despite the fact she could trace every minute detail at this distance. _Sharp_ , all of him sharp, and her, buzzing with the want to fight, with the need to test… something inscrutable.

His focus dropped down to her lips when she parted them to speak, and whatever she was going to say washed away with the heady flood of power that settled low in her gut. Which of them would break if she closed the distance? Who could claim that as a win? Was that a game she wanted to play?

The scars dipping through and discoloring his face seemed infinitely complex at this distance. What she wanted was to watch all of him, keep an eye on every single movement and twitch. What she wanted was to test him, to know him, to observe and to crash herself against his seemingly immovable form to see what reactions she could pull, to see what he would try to do to her in return.

Rook drifted closer, with the same slow deliberate manner as he had when he circled around her. His eyes found hers again, and here they were, only a single breath apart and having another staring contest about it. He looked so fucking focused, like the axis of the world hinged on this moment and them here, and it shook her more than their ever increasing proximity had. She brought a hand up to rest on the arch of his cheekbone along the craggy scars, feeling utterly unmoored with his hands on her but no corresponding grip, and that started him back into movement to draw his hand achingly slow to her hip and tug possessively at her and-

A radio crackled. Rook tensed all over, immediately wide eyes and ready to fight again. Jacob looked similarly shaken- not jumping but instead blinking slow a few times, his gaze not leaving her face. He reached for his radio, bringing it closer as the fuzziness in Rook’s head cleared until she could focus on the tinny words.

“... some more Whitetails causing trouble around the resort. We had casualties, but captured some of theirs. What do you want us to do with them? Over.”

Jacob looked at her with now lowered eyebrows, and she blinked, momentarily fascinated by the way his pupils changed and shrunk ever so slightly in his icy irises.

It took Rook a second to gather herself enough to shrug. She had no idea what the Whitetails were up to. They trusted her as much as Wheaty could beat her in a fist fight. Jacob searched her face, then seemed to accept she was telling the truth.

“Copy. I’m on my way to assess the situation. Over.”

Jacob Seed left her sitting alone in the clearing, every nerve buzzing and blood on her hands.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me for more far cry 5 shenanigans at deputyexhausted.tumblr.com !
> 
> (also, the joke is that aikido is a pacifist martial art)


End file.
